


The Trash Friend

by TheWritingSquid



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: DMC5 SPOILERS, Domestic Fluff, Gen, No animals were armed in the making of this fic, Pets, Standalone, background Kyrie/Nero, come for the fun and have a bit of angst to go with it!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 02:04:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18714286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: Vergil struggles with the absence left behind by Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare, so he visits a pet shop, hoping to find a suitable companion to attenuate his loneliness.





	The Trash Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this one on a whim after finish DMC5, and I had so much fun it birthed REBIRTH, my way longer running story. ^^; It was always meant to fit with Rebirth, too, and it's obvious now they won't ever match because of character arcs, so here we are! Enjoy it on its own! :)

Vergil stopped short as a chorus of chirps, barks, and other disgraceful animal noises assaulted him. This place reeked--an awful mix of ammoniac, wet fur, the pungent odour of kibbles, and the strong, artificial rose-scented spray they'd used to try to cover it up with. It made him instantly glad Griffon had been a phantasm; he had not needed nourishment, and thus had spared them all from the disagreeable result of such an activity. Perhaps coming here had been a misguided thought. He felt his companions’ absence more keenly than he cared to admit, yet surely none of the lowly beasts here could replace Shadow's majestic presence. Before he could change his mind, however, Dante strode in after him, ringing the little bell, and slapped him hard between the shoulder blades.

“What's wrong, brother? Don't tell me you can't handle a little smell after you spent a month in that blood-coated hell.”

Vergil scrunched up his nose, pressing his lips together. His memories of his time as Urizen were hazy, but he remembered the throne room. He turned his head a few degrees to the side, though never enough to put his brother in his periphery.

“It smelled like… power, Dante.”

Blood running down the walls, into the roots and his veins, pumping his demon form ever fuller, until it brimmed with the strength of human blood, with the power of countless lives. Aah, what a _rush_ it had been. Some days he longed for it still--longed to lose himself in that pure bliss and put an end to the endless cycle of doubts his days had become.

Vergil closed his eyes. By comparison, this place smelled like failure. One more mistake. One more illusion about himself and his place in the world. He ought not give such weight to an insignificant pet, yet these days it felt like the slightest missteps would upset this new balance, and he would find himself alone again.

“If power smells like ass crack, maybe,” Dante said, waving at the air before his nose. “C’mon, Vergil. I gave it some thought. I think I know what you need.”

He'd _thought_ about it? How unlike Dante. Vergil let himself be led through rows of squeaky toys and shining cages, wondering what kind of animal his brother had in mind. They stopped in front of the vivariums, filled with lizards of various sizes and levels of energy.

“A lizard,” he said.

Most hid under branches or rested on a big flat rock, but Vergil caught sight of a small blue one zipping across the floor. Was that why Dante had chosen these? For their speed, the power pumping into their slim legs, their colour? Vergil leaned forward to study it more closely.

“Yeah,” Dante said. “That way if you cut off a limb, it'll grow back!”

Dante’s big, expensive laugh burst into the pet shop, temporarily covering the incessant chirps of birds. Vergil briefly squeezed his eyes shut, pushing back his urge to snap back.

“Hilarious. Should I call him Nero, then?” He tapped the glass once and the lizard scurried away. Vergil scoffed, then left the vivarium. He should've known Dante would have no helpful suggestions. He’d probably tagged along only to mock him.

Vergil’s hand slid to the Yamato’s pommel as he scanned the pet shop. Perhaps he should have come better prepared. Would this web-thing the others kept mentioning have helped him? They always referred to it when in need of information, yet he struggled to convince himself any of these words could compare to carefully researched books. The world had changed so fast while he was not looking.

A black woman stood in the rodents’ area, wearing a white coat with the pet shop’s insignia. She held a ball of intense grey fluff out of which Vergil barely made out two shining eyes and a long tail. Kids stretched their hands upward to touch it, but she lifted her hands out of their reach.

“Sorry, kids. I can lower it, but you must promise not to touch. It’s a bit stressed out right now.” It had, in fact, frozen in her palms and only slightly shook, as if trying to conceal its fear.

“Now that’d be a match,” Dante said over Vergil’s shoulder. “They’re little shits who fling hay out of their cages all the damn time. But there’s even better. All that big fur is like you, Vergil. Looks impressive but really...” Dante strode across the pet shop, lightning fast, and brought one of his big dumb hand over the chinchilla before the employee could move. For a moment, Vergil thought he’d crush it, but Dante slowed down just in time, instead flattening the fur completely. “There’s nothing but weak bones under all that fluff.”

Dante guffawed, and suddenly all the kids were asking why _he_ could touch the chinchilla. Vergil’s face flushed under the insult, and he drew the Yamato an inch out of her sheath, crouching.

“Weak bones didn’t become the king of demons,” he retorted. He shouldn’t let Dante rile him up so easily, yet the mockery got under his skin, feeding into his wounded pride and his desire to become the best he could be--in short, the best of all.

Dante’s eyebrows shot up and he crossed his arms, leaning back with a casual smile. “C’mon, don’t take it like that, brother. It doesn’t have to be a chinchilla.” He turned to the tiny rodent and added, “Sorry buddy.”

“It doesn’t have to be _anything_.”

Vergil spun on his heels, allowing the Yamato to return to its sheath, its pommel familiar under his grip. Perhaps he didn’t need any other companion than his trusted blade. No animal could ever replace the strange place Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare had come to occupy in him--first as competition, pitted against each other under Mundus’ crushing grasp, then as terrors in his dreams, chasing him into the deepest recesses of his mind, and finally, in a strange twist of events, as almost-friends and protectors, facing other demons head-on at his command. Yet ever since his two halves had fused back together, he’d heard nothing from them, whether awake or dreaming, and the absence haunted him as surely as they once had.

His long coat trailed behind him as he hurried between bird cages, forcing himself to ignore the way every powerful caw made his heart pitch. He was almost at the door by the time Dante caught up to him and blocked his way

“All right, I get it,” he said, his tone indicating he didn't at all. “But you need to learn to chill. Or relax. Chillax, you know?”

Vergil did not, but he assumed this was yet another modern expression used by the youth and adopted by his brother in an attempt to mask the undeniable fact he had sailed past fourty years of age.

“I do not need to… _chillax_.” Vergil pinched the bridge of his nose, searching for the words that would get Dante out of his way. “Nor do I need a pet after all. I should've known better.”

“Not even a big puppy? Like a huge shepherd dog. They’re big doofus who love following people around to keep an eye on them and protect them.”

Vergil's eyebrows shot up, and the hint of a smile curved his lips. “Is that not your purpose, Dante?”

Dante burst out laughing, the sound so loud and sudden it startled several birds. He wrapped a hand around Vergil's shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze.

“No pets, then,” he said. “Let's get back to Nero’s. Apparently there's a new pizza joint in the neighbourhood and we're trying it out tonight! It has all those fancy toppings, too, so you don't get to complain about junk food again.”

Vergil rolled his eyes. He'd complained _one time_ , after a whole week of pizzas and strawberry sundays, but Dante wouldn't let him hear the end of it. Perhaps that diet was why Kyrie insisted on inviting them over so often even when most of their meals ended in fights or heavy silence.

“Says the man who complains if his sundae has less than three cherries on top,” he replied.

Shrugging Dante off his shoulders, he headed out of the petshop. He wasn’t used to the strange warmth he often felt these days around Dante or the others--the inhabitual knowledge that someone cared about him being alive. That someone-- _multiple someones_ \--cared about his happiness.

 

###

 

They ended up spread out around Nero's garage, the doors wide open to let in the late summer's sunlight. Most of them had two slices of pizza piled upon one another in a cheap plastic plate; Dante had two whole boxes piled upon one another, the top one's lid open so he could easily reach within. Vergil watched him dangle a slice above his mouth, the cheese beginning its precarious slide down, slick with grease. It dripped into his mouth just as he chomped down on the pizza, _somehow_ engulfing all of it in a single “bite”. No matter how often he watched him do it, he could not comprehend how it happened. Demon powers, perhaps. He wouldn't put it past Dante.

Kyrie and Nero sat together in the three steps leading to the main house, whispering to each other. Every time Nero looked at her, at smile tugged at the corner of his lips and his face changed, like the harshness melted away from it. Kyrie leaned in closer, perfectly at ease, perfectly safe, and longing and confusion tugged at Vergil. He'd never known this kind of love, not even unrequited, and he wondered what it was like. If it was worth it. They seemed to enjoy it, yet if he tried to project himself with a partner… Vergil grimaced and took a first bite in his pizza, turning his mind to the surprising combination of figs and goat cheese, and to Nico's endless monologue.

She’d started talking almost as soon as Nero and her had arrived, parking the Devil May Cry van and hopping down with the pizzas. First it was a comprehensive tale of the many demon ass he'd kick, with a particular attention to which Devil Breakers he'd used, and how, and why they were pure awesome. The words ‘work of arts’ were used repeatedly, and Nero often mouthed them at the same time as she did, rolling his eyes. Nico provided them with constant noise, a stream of uncouth similes and modern expressions Vergil struggled to parse, and he was glad for it. Her words filled the silence between them and occupied his mind, pushing away the doubts. Nico made it easy to stop questioning himself.

Vergil finished his first pizza slice, setting aside the thin and dry crust. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and cleaned his fingers, rubbing off grease before he moved on to the next slice. Dante had reached his second box of pizza already and was preparing to engulf yet another slice in a single go. This was, at least, one area in which he had no compulsion to beat his brother. Eating, no matter what or when, always proved a struggle. The first time he’d left a plate untouched, he’d gotten an earful from Kyrie, and Nero had made it clear he hadn’t saved his ass to watch him starve himself. So he ate, even when the food was ash on his tongue or, worse, when every flavour, smell, and texture turned into an unbearable assault on his sense, overwhelming him to the point where he lost track of his surroundings. He ate, and he did not complain.

Only one slice to go.

Vergil stored his handkerchief back, stuffing it in his pocket little by little. He was about to set to work when he caught a grey flash from the corner of his eye. A small, furry form streaked across the garage, leaping over Dante and snapping the entire pizza slice out of his hands. Images of a minuscule Shadow superposed itself in Vergil’s mind for a brief instant, before he took in the cat’s scruffy fur, its much lighter colour, and its yge--a youth, barely old enough not to be called a kitten and not much longer than Vergil’s forearm. It landed gracefully, the tip of the slice touching the ground, and bounded away before Dante could reclaim his due.

It sprinted directly to Vergil and leaped up, climbing on his leg then arm, digging its claws in, spilling pizza grease all over his coat. The cat nestled against his neck, _somehow_ holding the slice in its tiny mouth and pressing it partly against Vergil’s cheek. Dante was halfway across the garage and Vergil reflexively jumped up, falling into a fighting crouch. He could feel the cat’s purring through its vibrations.

“ _Woo-ee_!” Nico exclaimed, adding an impressed whistling to it. “Always knew Trash was a quickie lil’ bugger, but who knew she’d zip pizza right out of the Legendary Demon Hunter Dante’s hands? Cat’s a winner if I ever saw one, and I know ‘em when I see ‘em.”

“... Trash?” Vergil repeated, and the cat rubbed its face harder against his, pressing the pizza in. Part of him wanted to fling the slice away, but the cat would follow, and he was loathe to rid himself of the warmth and pressure on his shoulders, even if it was digging its little claws in.

“You know her, Nico?”

“Duuh.” Nico shoved some pizza down her throat, only to realize they were all waiting for more information. Mouth still half full, she obliged. “She’s always hangin’ round the garbage outside. Slashed the bags up a few times to get food, so I been feeding her for a month. Used to be, her mom and another kitten would be ‘round, too, but I ain’t seen them in a while.”

Of course she was hungry. Vergil had lost many memories to years as Nelo Angelo and the subsequent limbo of death, but he remembered the deep sting of hunger as he’d struggled to survive on his own, after the attack on Red Grave.

“I can share,” he said.

He reached for the pizza slice against his face, gently pulled it out of Trash’s teeth, then flung it back at Dante. If his brother cared that it had touched the garage’s floor, Vergil’s coat and face, and the cat’s teeth, he didn’t show: he devoured it without hesitation. Vergil plucked the cat off his shoulders and set it back down, next to his plate. This pizza had salmon on it … surely a cat would appreciate that?

“V-man, you gotta remove the cheese first,” Nico called. “That shit ain’t good for them.”

Somehow, Vergil suspected the cat had eaten worse. He nonetheless bent over and pulled the cheese off the pizza, separating every piece of salmon to set it back down. Trash sniffed at it, then with a little meow, she set a paw on it and started eating. Vergil watched her, retrieving his handkerchief once more and slowly wiping the side of his face clean.

“Perhaps I ought to better inform myself on the specific needs of felines. My last companions were rather… undemanding.”

“You gonna bring the little pizza stealer home?” Dante bent over the cat, hands on his thighs, and pointed a finger at it. “You and I are gonna have to talk, hear me? You only get olives. The rest’s all mine. And if you ever take a lick of my strawberry sundays? Deal’s off.”

Trash stared at him for a moment, unimpressed, then returned to her meal. Dante laughed and returned towards his seat, waving a non-existent flag in mock defeat. He flung himself back into his comfortable spot next to the tires and two pizza box.

“I guess the garbage god found himself a new friend. Can’t wait to see the little monster try to drink from the toilet.”

He reached for a new pizza slice and Trash’s head snapped up immediately. Vergil swiped her off the floor just as she bounded off, catching her before she could dash for Dante’s meal again. He brought her tiny body closer, setting her down on his lap. She felt so small in his hands, ridiculously breakable. He dared not hold her too hard.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t run away,” Nico said. “I bet she likes you a lot, V-man, ‘cause she kept vanishing on me.”

“Evidently.” She had flopped down now, in part on his dirty handkerchief. He would need to have his coat dry cleaned--again--and to wash the dirt from her fur.

“She'll make a good bud,” Nico concluded, before leaning back and retrieving back a cigarette from her pack.

Vergil could only hope so. He'd set out with the idea to buy himself a new companion, yet instead this small critter had come to him. Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare had been a constant presence in his mind even before they materialized physically--threats, nightmares, and companions all at once. He hadn't chosen them, either. Vergil slid his fingers through Trash's dirty fur and slowly began scratching her ear. She leaned into it, submitting to the touch, and he smiled. Yes, perhaps she could help him fill that void, if only a little.

**Author's Note:**

> 2019-05-05 update: Only registered users can comment now. I'm -really- sorry about that, but I'm receiving serious harassment with every update on other fics, so this is how it's gotta be. :(


End file.
